


Every night knows how long it's supposed to last

by dejas



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Blessed/Cursed, Getting Together, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-05 19:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dejas/pseuds/dejas
Summary: “So…” Tyson knows Kerfy is being metaphorical if anything, but it doesn’t stop him from picturing himself climbing aboard a burning boat because JT is there.“He likes you,” Kerfy says blatantly. “What are you so afraid of?”Tyson inhales. He exhales. There’s no real way to explain it without sounding crazy and so does justgoeswith what he’s pretty sure he’s known all along. “I’m cursed.”( Or Tyson's blessed with plenty of suitors— until they kiss. So maybe he's cursed. )





	Every night knows how long it's supposed to last

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [littleconnections](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleconnections/pseuds/littleconnections) in the [wesmashing](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesmashing) collection. 



> As always, if you found this upon googling, exit immediately. This is a complete work of fiction and in no way am I implying that anything written in here is true. Stories are not meant to be circulated or shared with those written in them. All is loosely based on some real events, that is all.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who helped me accomplish this, beta'd and cheered me on, especially ki and Jess. I probably would have never finished this without being pushed to do so. You're all wonderful and inspiring! 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Blessed/Cursed AU
> 
> Tyson is Blessed and it manifests in him being extremely charming and everyone falling in love with him very easily. The downside is that once they've kissed him they almost instantly forget about him. 
> 
> So Josty meets JT and he falls hard for JT. The blessing is working it's magic and JT is showing interest in return and Josty Absolutely Cannot Kiss Him because he likes him so much, he would absolutely not be able to handle it if JT stopped showing interest after kissing him once. 
> 
> In the end JT is the exception to the curse and that's how you know it's Real Love of course.

**Prologue**

He remembers his first kiss like it’s yesterday, hidden amongst the crawl-tunnel of his favorite playground with a girl he hardly remembers the name of. She’s freckled, talkative and popular, Tyson recalls, unsure how she took interest in him and all of his quirks. 

Most of the afternoon is spent in the cramped space of too-warm plastic and though Tyson doesn’t remember the exact conversation, just that _he’s_ the one she picked, he knows exactly what happens next. They kiss.

It’s not, like, a real adult-like kiss that Tyson’s seen in movies. It’s quick— just a peck— and then it’s over. There’s no sparks or anything and Tyson, in fact, finds himself a little underwhelmed and grossed out by the thought of it all. Still, she smiles, shyly, and he thinks given the circumstance, he would probably kiss her again.

Except he doesn’t.

The next day, head high, Tyson runs through the field, early afternoon in search of his friends who he can’t wait to tell about his new girlfriend. She’s there, leader of the pack, and as he walks over to her, smiling, making a joke that seems to be missed, she recoils, nose wrinkled. It’s as if she’s forgotten everything from their shared kiss to his very name. It’s, in turn, the last time they talk. 

He doesn’t think it’s like, a real curse or anything, that perhaps she was too curious, too embarrassed— his list of mental excuses he’s prepared for are a mile long before his mother interjects. She’s oh so gentle in explaining to him that women can be fickle and that’s okay— that she may change her mind and if she doesn’t? That’s okay, too. What’s meant to be will be and there’s plenty of fish in the sea.

Except Tyson’s sea feels a bit more like a deep and treacherous ocean with unknown caves and danger lurking in every crevice. Each time he dives down, he finds what he thinks is the richest of treasure only for it to disintegrate once he’s reached the surface.

In other words, Tyson is like, totally cursed. 

..

“Tys, hurry up, we’re going to be late,” Kerfy says, head poking around the corner. He’s doing some kind of waving motion with his hands that Tyson thinks is supposed to make him move faster, but all it really does is make him laugh.

He doesn’t quite know how he ended up in this situation— living with a grad student who owns his own bookstore-slash-café— who’s smart and neat and surrounds himself with scholars who never fail to make Tyson feel like the odd one out in social situations. 

His pop culture jokes easily go over Kerfy’s head and he’s often reminded that you cannot, in fact, properly measure someone in an _absolute unit_ without specifying what said unit is. It’s kind of annoying.

Still, Kerfy, though way intellectually above Tyson, is kind and patient and reminds Tyson that book smarts aren’t everything— money helps, too. It’s why he’s prodded to _hurry up_ again because lattes don’t make themselves.

Oh yeah. And Kerfy is his boss.

He likes Kerfy because Kerfy, from day one, seems to be immune to his charm— befriending him quickly without the expected, awkward backwards dance towards the closest bedroom. Tyson’s slightly offended at first— it isn’t like many to look past his charming advances— but Kerfy, thankfully, does.

He doesn’t quite know what he’d do without him these days.

Kerfy’s there to catch him each and every time he falls into that same routine of being loved and left— to clean up the pieces when Tyson’s sure he’s met the right one, only to fall flat on his face when they lose interest just as quickly as it’s gained.

Truth be told, boss and roommate aside, Kerfy is a pretty good friend. Usually.

“I swear to god, Tyson. If we aren’t out the door in five minutes, you’re fired.” Kerfy waves his keys, though all it does is elicit a groan from Tyson. He’s not moving any faster.

“You’re not going to fire me,” Tyson says, grabbing his coat and slipping it on. “Who else is going to keep your cafe from falling apart?”

Kerfy snorts, shaking his head. Tyson knows he’s unique— anyone else would be fired on the spot. “Fine, fair enough. Now let’s _go_.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on.” Tyson’s in his shoes and out the door in less than a minute. It’s a learned routine and despite Kerfy being impatient most days, they’ve never once been late. Either way, Tyson doesn’t quite get the need for punctuality. “It isn’t like there’s a line of people rushing in to read the works of Nietzsche.”

“Maybe not,” Kerfy says, locking the door behind them. “But if there is, they’re not going to be happy if they’re standing out front twenty minutes past opening.”

Tyson shivers when the cold air hits his face. It’s snowing lightly and he knows that no one is _actually_ going to wait. Not when they don’t open for another hour and a half. “If someone’s waiting out in this, they deserve free coffee for life.”

“No.” Kerfy bunches his coat around himself, scarf muffling his laugh. He doesn’t say much more, hurrying to get into the car and out of the cold. Tyson follows suit, rubbing his hands together once the heat begins to blow.

“It’s called customer service,” Tyson says, grinning as Kerfy pulls out of the driveway.

“It’s called bills,” Kerfy corrects, swatting Tyson’s hand when he tries to change the radio station. “Besides, you drink enough free coffee on your own.”

Tyson shrugs because okay, fair, but also because he _needs_ it to work with someone as high strung as Kerfy. It’s the only thing that keeps him awake the days Kerfy can’t seem to shut up about the latest Philosophy Bites podcast he’s listened to.

The sun is just barely up when they arrive and, as Tyson expected, no one’s waiting to get in. When he turns to Kerfy, he grins, motioning towards the storefront. “Better hurry. All of these people need their coffee.”

Kerfy just mumbles, “Asshole.”

..

Tyson isn’t the best at his job, though he makes up for it all in personality. In just two years, he easily memorized the names and orders of his regulars. He knows that Kerfy’s colleague, Colin, prefers to order a London Fog each morning while he reads the newspaper, nestled in his favorite corner. Another regular, Gabe, skips the sweater vests and paper and prefers to dip biscotti in a simple cup of coffee— one cream, one sugar.

The days Kerfy isn’t face first in a stack of books, he’s sitting with Colin, elbows deep in discourse Tyson doesn’t even pretend to understand. He keeps a safe distance, tending to the few customers who come in to escape the cold, setting those who seek specific books free in appropriate directions, pointing out where each genre is located. 

Tyson doesn’t read the books himself— much. He finds himself wrapped up in the little things, like making sure they’ve ordered enough coffee cup sleeves for those on the go. There’s no time to read when you’re pretty much the manager of a coffee house tucked amongst rows and rows of books. Not that he’d read most of what Kerfy’s lined the shelves with.

He gets requests— _tons_ of them— and each time, Tyson apologizes with a shrug, directing them to the suggestion box. The drinks are his specialty. Books, he reminds his regulars with a regretful smile, are up to Kerfy.

Most of the suggestions make sense. He can see why someone would want to pick up Harry Potter. It’s probably one of the few books he _has_ read, unable to put it down until the story came to an end and he was left feeling slightly lost and nostalgic all rolled into a magical ball he keeps hidden somewhere close to his heart. It reminds him of his childhood when it was okay to daydream.

It’s the next request that really throws him for a loop.

“Where are the comic books?” He’s tall, smile barely there and dead serious when he speaks. Tyson’s never seen him before, so of course, he’s naive to the fact that Kerfy wouldn't stock anything even remotely close to a picture book, let alone comics.

“Th— the what?” Tyson doesn’t mean to stutter it’s just, most visitors come in looking for _academia_ , as Kerfy puts it. There’s hardly a fiction section despite the suggestion box being stuffed full of requests for the latest young adult romances. Romance, Kerfy says, isn’t a Nicholas Sparks book. Thinking so would be naive. 

“You know,” the guy says, eyebrows furrowed, as if he’s thinking exactly how to describe what he’s looking for. “Comic books. Superheroes. Like, Captain America.”

“We, uh,” Tyson says, face to face with the stranger. He looks to be about his age, maybe slightly older if he’s guessing. “Kerfy doesn’t believe in comic books. He’s a teacher. Well, studying to be one. He says if you want to read about superheroes to start at the beginning with the Trojan War.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna pass,” he says, shrugging and leaning against the counter. “So do the drinks here suck, too?”

Tyson rolls his eyes because it’s one thing to insult his boss’ terrible taste in books, it’s another to insult a man’s job to his face. “What do you drink? Do you drink coffee?” Tyson studies his face, watching it change from smug to unsure— but of course he likes coffee— who doesn’t. “You look like a macchiato kind of guy.”

He smirks, arms crossed over his chest. It’s enough of an answer as any as Tyson gets to work. 

“What’s your name?” Tyson glances over his shoulder, cup in hand.

There’s a pause and then, “It’s just… JT.”

Tyson scribbles out the name onto the cup with a smile and then busies himself in the process of drink making. JT doesn’t seem to go far— Tyson guesses it’s because there’s no point in wandering about when Kerfy doesn’t have the decency to stock something as coveted as comic books. 

“One macchiato,” Tyson says, holding it out with a grin, shaking his head when JT reaches for his wallet. “On the house.”

“So you don’t have to refund me when I tell you it sucks?” JT grins, blowing on the drink, eyebrow raising when he reads the print— _Just JT_.

“Because I’m nice and maybe I feel a little bad that we don’t have any comic books.” Tyson smiles, because he _is_ nice, but also because there’s something about JT that draws him in. “And if you like your drink, then maybe I’ll see you here again.”

“Get some comics,” JT says, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Then maybe we’ll see.” His smile is genuine and when he touches Tyson’s arm, it’s gentle.

Tyson nods, “I’ll see what I can do.” It’s far too easyto misconstrue JT’s body language as flirting when he takes just a few short steps, glancing back over his shoulder. Tyson smiles, again, falling headfirst into a daydream that’s quickly interrupted by Kerfy leaning against the counter and clearing his throat.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck.” He looks towards the door, the _that_ being JT, then rolls his eyes, motioning to the coffee maker. “Can you put on a fresh pot? I have a pounding headache and if I don’t finish this thesis, I swear.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tyson says, turning towards the machine. Now’s his chance if any. “So, what if people come in and are looking for other types of books?”

“Who is he this time?” Kerfy looks back towards to door, but JT is already gone. “The redhead? Jesus, Tyson. You’re hopeless.”

Tyson opens his mouth to speak only to be cut off by Kerfy’s laughing. Kerfy, he knows, would _never_ allow comic books in his shop. He waits for the coffee making to begin dripping and decides, in that moment, that asking is out of the question.

Finding his own comics, however, isn’t.

..

Tyson takes to the internet and finds himself lost in a land of comic books that he, quite frankly, had no idea existed. He lands on a reddit page that discusses the latest releases, but it’s far too overwhelming for someone has no idea where to begin.

“Christ.” Tyson runs a hand over his face with a sigh and decides to give it a rest for a night. Even if he manages to find something, what does he think he’s going to do? Stock the shelves himself? Kerfy would have a stroke.

It isn’t like he expects to see JT again, anyway. Especially not tomorrow— it’s his day off.

“Oh, hey Tyson?” Kerfy sing-songs from across the hall.

“Yeah?” Tyson shuts his laptop, sits up and braces himself for what he already knows his coming.

Kerfy appears at his door seconds later looking worse for wear. “I need you to work tomorrow.”

“What?” Tyson frowns when Kerfy begins pacing. He knew it. “I haven’t had a day off in almost two weeks. Can’t you like, ask Colin?”

“Colin?” Kerfy stops pacing momentarily to laugh. “Yeah, _that’ll_ be the day. Look, it’s just for like, a few hours. I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I don’t trust anyone else running the place when I’m not there.”

“Not there?” Tyson raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I had plans.”

It’s sort of a little white lie.

“I can fire you, you know,” Kerfy says, chewing on his bottom lip.

Tyson knows he wouldn’t— he won’t. “Alright,” he shrugs.

“Tyson,” Kerfy groans, running a hand over his face. “You know I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important. I’m not going to force you—”

“—But you’re forcing me,” Tyson says, shaking his head.

“If I don’t pass this midterm— Don’t make me beg. Tys, _Please_?” Kerfy wrinkles his nose, as if saying those last words pained him slightly. “I’ll pay you extra. Order whatever book it was your ginger friend was looking for. I don’t care. Just… go to work tomorrow.”

Tyson tries his best to hide his elation, knowing better than to let Kerfy see the power he just placed into his hands. He shakes his head, exhaling for show. It’s not like he’d actually say no anyway. “Could I take next weekend off, too?”

“Fine,” Kerfy says, near desperate. “Whatever. Just say yes because I don’t want to be that dickhead boss who makes his employees hate him by forcing them to work all of the time.”

“Okay, okay.” Tyson laughs, feeling slightly bad at how easily Kerfy caves under pressure. “Yes, I’ll work tomorrow. Just don’t fail your midterm.”

“Yes, okay, great, thank you,” Kerfy says, face going pale at the mention of his midterm. “Oh God. Don’t even joke. I need to get back to studying.”

Tyson opens his mouth to prod him but doesn’t need to. Kerfy’s out of the room that quickly— to study, but also possibly before Tyson can change his mind.

He doesn’t mind working. It’s just… Tyson misses having a social life, too.

He has friends he hasn’t seen in sometime— friends who don’t drink coffee or read books. They’re the polar opposite of Kerfy and none the least bit interested in getting to know him, either. They’re the kind of people Tyson finds himself questioning if they’re friends at all.

When he lays down, he doesn’t bother thinking about his “friends,” mind wandering to JT. He wonders what his friends are like— he wonders what _he’s_ like. It’s tough to form a picture when all he has is a face and name. JT seems nice, he thinks, when he begins to drift off, willing himself not to get too attached.

It’s easier said than done, he knows, when he falls asleep to visions of JT’s smile lighting up the room when Tyson presents him with stacks upon stacks of comic books. There’s more than he can carry, spilling over the counter and onto the floor. He dreams of JT laughing, scooping up a handful of the comics— JT thanking him— JT _kissing_ him.

..

He regrets agreeing to work when he wakes up far too early, alarm blaring and eyes struggling to stay open. There’s a split second where Tyson considers hitting snooze and “accidentally” forgetting he agreed to work, but then he thinks about JT leaning against the counter, thumbing through a comic book and his head gets dizzy. He _has_ to go to work.

Tyson showers and makes it out the door before Kerfy, who’s busy stuffing books and papers into a messenger bag, panic-stricken all the while. He knows it’s nothing new for Kerfy to have a bit of a meltdown moments before presenting his best work.

“Knock ‘em dead,” Tyson says halfway out the door, trying not to laugh when Kerfy mumbles something about stress putting _him_ one foot in the grave.

He’s early. There’s no line of customers, no one in a hurry for coffee _or_ to read Kerfy’s _pretentious pick of the month_ as he so fondly calls it. This month, it’s something by Plato he won’t even attempt to pronounce. With Kerfy out, he’s almost tempted to change it, but settles on giving the book the finger as he passes by.

Instead, Tyson, far too tired, mind still reeling at the thought of ordering whatever books he wants, gets the coffee brewing. By noon, he’s had several cups himself, pacing behind the counter. He checks the clock, then checks it again in less than five minutes.

JT doesn’t show up in the afternoon, but Tyson’s hopeful. Maybe he’ll stop by later on. He tries not to let it get him down— JT probably has a job or something. It’s not like he promised he’d come back, anyway.

It’s easier said than done.

Four more cups of coffee and five hours later, Tyson barely smiles when Gabe stops in for his biscotti.

“No Kerf today?” Gabe seems to pick up on Tyson’s mood, giving his arm a squeeze, smile sympathetic. “He really should give you a raise.”

“You’re right,” Tyson agrees, not-so-subtly sneaking Gabe an extra biscotti. Kerfy won’t mind.

“I’ll put the bug in his ear next time he catches me up on his latest reading.” Gabe’s one of the few regulars who doesn’t groan when Kerfy approaches and if he’s bothered by the eccentric way Kerfy talks about books, it doesn’t show. Gabe’s the kind of guy who loves life, living vicariously through the interests of others.

Tyson smiles, head turning when the jingle of a bell signifies another customer. It’s not JT, but Gabe’s boyfriend who’s mostly referred to as _Other Tyson_.

“Hey babe, I got something for you.” Gabe waves the biscotti and the way Other Tyson’s eyes light up make Tyson long for something like they seem to have. 

When Gabe and his boyfriend leave, hand in hand, and Tyson’s mind tricks him, going straight to JT, he shakes his head, nose crinkling and slightly disgusted in what he’s become. In that moment, Tyson decides to be angry. He decides that no, he _doesn’t_ need anyone. Except maybe he does.

Customer after customer, he gives his best smile, thanking them when his tip jar is rewarded. It helps to be charming— his tip jar is easily doubled by the end of the day. By quarter to five, he’s four more cups in and tired of lying to himself— tired of obsessively checking the clock.

When he closes up, he sighs. 

Kerfy shows up just as he flips off the _Open_ sign, looking relieved. At least that’s one of them, Tyson thinks to himself.

“Who knew cramming for a week and panicking last minute would actually pay off?” Kerfy rounds the counter, eyeing the tip jar. “Looks like you had a busy day, too. Please tell me none of this is dirty money.”

“No!” Tyson laughs, thinking about the college girls that always come in to flirt— that scribble notes and phone numbers on bills, stuffing them into the tip jar and giggling when he catches on. He’s never actually called any of them, though. Tyson has a rule: no fraternizing with customers.

Which makes the whole JT situation awkward. Luckily for Tyson, in a world of technicalities and Kerfy being absolutely difficult, JT isn’t a paying customer— yet.

“So what’s on the purchase order?” Kerfy crosses the room and picks up the clipboard, reading through the books he has for order. His eyebrow raises when he must realize Tyson never added anything. “Ginger change his mind?”

“Didn’t show,” Tyson says with a shrug. He tries his best not to come across completely devastated over a stranger, because at the end of the day JT is just that. It sucks, but it’s just a minor letdown in Tyson’s world of failed attempts to meet someone new. He’ll get over, probably. “His loss, right?”

“Technically it’s our loss,” Kerfy points out. “Sales-wise, anyway.” He’s smart when it comes to calculations but misses the point this time around— thankfully. Tyson doesn’t think his fragile heart can take any of Kerfy’s ribbing tonight.

“It was comic books.”

Kerfy snorts. “And you didn’t tell him there’s a place down the block?”

“Wait, what?” Tyson’s eyes widen slightly, surprised Kerfy of all people knew about this place— that he _didn’t_. “Since when?”

“Ask Colin,” Kerfy shrugs. “He found a bunch of philosophy graphic novels there. Who knew?”

It’s a little bit of information Tyson takes silently, tucking into his back pocket for later. For now, he’s focused on preserving a little bit of dignity. Exhaling, he shrugs it off. “I’m exhausted. I’m going home.”

Kerfy doesn’t pry, barely looking up when he grabs one of the books from a shelf. “Alright, well. I’ll see you in a bit. Just want to grab a few things.”

“Mhm,” Tyson says, pulling on his coat and heading towards the door, jingling his keys as he goes. “Later.”

..

Home, Tyson decides, in the split second he steps outside, is a terrible idea. He closes his eyes, inhaling the cool, crisp air before looking down the empty street. It’s only then Tyson lets his feet guide him. He knows which direction the comic book shop should be in and the only logical decision he makes in that moment is to go the _opposite_ way.

It’s no coincidence when he ends up rounding the block and standing in front of it anyway.

The open sign is off and he’s just about to leave when someone walks out— right into him.

“Fuck,” the much taller guy says, stumbling over his feet and dropping a stack of books between them. Tyson curses under his breath, quick to kneel down and help clean up the mess

“Here let me just—” Tyson places a hand on the top book— or what he _thinks_ is the book. Turns out it’s warmer. It’s the other guy’s hand. He pulls back slightly, clearing his throat, wishing he were anywhere but there. Then their eyes meet and his tune changes. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, dude.” He smiles, then, gathering his things and rising back to his feet. The top comic book is now a bit wrinkled, though he doesn’t seem all that concerned, eyes seeming to be more focused on Tyson rather than assessing the damage. “Shit happens.”

“At least let me help you or something? That’s like, _a lot_ of comics.” Tyson gives his best sympathetic smile, knowing this is how he finds himself in trouble— caring less when the taller guy seems to be considering it. He thinks, briefly, that JT would probably like some of those comics, shaking the thought away when his new acquaintance closes in on his space.

“My car’s right there,” he motions to the white one at the corner. “If you could just—” He looks down to where his keys are hanging out of his pocket. 

Tyson laughs, leaning in, lingering before he yanks them out with a little smirk. “I got you.”

It’s how he learns his name is Ryan, that he just moved into town not that long ago and that he’s got no qualms about making out with a stranger in his car— especially when it’s Tyson who’s said stranger. What he _doesn’t_ learn is why Ryan’s here, why he’s the second person Tyson’s met this week who’s into comics or why he’s so easy to kiss Tyson of all people. When his fingertips brush the back of Tyson’s neck, he shivers and decides that in that moment, none of that really seems to matter.

Tyson’s head goes slightly dizzy when a larger pair of hands pin him against the seat, when one hand moves just as quickly, tugging the front of his shirt and pulling him in for another breathy kiss.

It’s something new and exciting that leaves Tyson feeling as if he’s living dangerously, not the least bit shy when he moans softly into Ryan’s slightly open mouth. He knows it won’t go too much further than this, breath hitching when he feels the light drag of teeth across the hollow of his neck. He’s also been wrong before.

“Do you want to, uh, go somewhere less public?” Tyson shivers when Ryan nips at his neck in response, tongue dragging along the spot. He’s guessing that’s a no.

“I would, but…”

“Oh.” Tyson holds his breath, not expecting such an abrupt stop. He smiles and even though it’s a little forced, tries not to think about being turned down twice in one week. “It’s okay, I get it.”

“No, I mean, I totally would be down with it.” Ryan laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “But I kind of have to go to work in an hour so.”

Tyson laughs, relieved. He’s not getting his hopes up, but— “So?”

Ryan shrugs then reaches down beneath the seat. His phone must have fallen sometime earlier. He unlocks it, handing it over to Tyson. “Put your number in?”

Tyson, of course, does.

“Great,” Ryan says, laughing when they’re both back on the street, Tyson smoothing out the front of his shirt. “I’ll text you later. Maybe we can hang out or something sometime.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Tyson smiles. There’s no awkward, uncomfortable lingering— no need to say much more. It’s an easy break, because when Ryan promises to text him, he believes it— when he drives off, he knows it’s not the last time they’ll meet.

..

Friday is Tyson’s first full day off of his much earned three-day weekend. With Kerfy already up and out of the house, he starts his day with a big bowl of chocolate cereal and parks himself in front of the television to watch the morning news.

“Tyson, wake up!” 

Tyson barely has time to process Kerfy’s voice before a pillow hits him square in the face. Muffled, he curses, shoving the pillow away. He doesn’t remember falling asleep on the couch and has no problem denying it happened. “Jesus, Kerf, I’m awake.”

“You should have come to work,” Kerfy says before disappearing into another room.

“Weekend off, remember?” Tyson checks his watch. It’s not even noon yet. So what if he fell asleep watching The Price is Right. He earned this. “Why aren’t _you_ there?”

“Forgot to grab my laptop this morning.” Kerfy holds up the bag, laughing nervously. “Colin’s trying his hardest to keep the place from burning down before I get back.”

“You’re letting him make coffee?” Tyson sits up, running a hand over his face. “Are you trying to chase customers away?”

Kerfy rolls his eyes. “Lauren’s there. Colin’s watching the other register.”

Tyson hums, rising to his feet. He checks his phone— no new texts. Kerfy seems to be examining him, but if he thinks Tyson’s up to something, he doesn’t say. 

“Anyway, I better get back. Some of us have things to do today.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tyson scoffs.

Kerfy looks to the television as a woman spins the giant wheel. When she begins jumping and screaming, he turns to Tyson. “Is _this_ what you’re going to do all weekend?”

“Not _all_ weekend,” Tyson protests, turning off the television. “Just this morning. Maybe I have a date or something.”

“A date?” Kerfy laughs. “Ginger didn’t say anything about a _date_.”

“Why would he—” Tyson stops dead, suddenly unable to breathe. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t freak out.” Kerfy gives his best sympathetic smile, but Tyson’s heart is already beating out of his chest. “He came in earlier, wanted to thank you for everything, but found the comic shop so.”

“So he isn’t coming back?” Tyson attempts to laugh it off, because really, JT was never meant to be more than just a potential customer. He’s moved on. He’s already making plans to go out this weekend with Ryan who’s friendly and flirty and… isn’t texting him.

Kerfy just shrugs. “I told him I’d tell you he stopped in.”

“Is he still there?” Tyson looks at his phone. Maybe he’s missed a text through his nap. There’s a meme from his sister and a text from Kerfy, asking if his laptop is on the table, but nothing from anyone he doesn’t recognize. 

“Nah,” Kerfy says. “Didn’t even get any coffee. Must have just been looking for you.”

“Shit.” Tyson has to sit down to process.

“Dude, that’s not, like, a bad thing.” Kerfy checks his watch, furrowing his brows. “I have to get back there. Promise me you won’t sit around and sulk all day. Maybe he’ll come back in a few days. I told him you work Monday.”

“Why would you do that?” Tyson groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“You need to get your ass off of the couch. Go be social.”

Tyson lifts his head, incredulous. “I’m _always_ social!”

“Yeah, to customers.” Kerfy checks his watch again, heading towards the door. “And take a damn shower! We’re going out tonight.”

Tyson wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t think he smells that bad, though his hair is left sticking up from his unexpected nap. Still, he thinks he has plans, maybe, if Ryan texts him. Plans that aren’t supposed to involve Kerfy and probably Colin and whatever their boring choice of bar is. 

The door closes and Kerfy is gone before Tyson can protest.

He doesn’t bother turning the television back on, having little to no interest in seeing someone yell their head off over winning a paid vacation. It’s always the dick who bids $1 who wins both showcases and fails miserably on the wheel— it’s luck— something Tyson’s not sure he’s ever experienced. 

It’s not like he’s bitter. Game shows are a gamble. He just… can’t be bothered. Not when he knows JT was looking for him— that he gave up that easily for someone else who couldn’t be bothered to follow up. 

“Whatever,” Tyson mumbles to himself as he makes his way to the bathroom. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, giving it a test sniff and okay, so _maybe_ he needs a shower, but he’s still not going out. Today is his day to sulk. Kerfy can deal.

..

“What’s a fucking gastropub?” Tyson looks downright baffled when they sit down, recoiling at the _No Shots_ sign. He’s been to plenty of bars, had his fair share of shots and never knew a place _not_ to serve then. Of _course_ Colin managed to find the one place in town that’s the exception. “Really?” 

“Easy there, frat boy,” Colin says, patting Tyson’s back. “We’re adults. It’s all wine and craft beer from here on out.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kerfy says, looking over a menu. “I’d go for liquor, but we’re not here to get shit faced, Tys.”

“Then _why_ are we here?” Tyson runs a finger over the beer list, stopping at something he doesn’t quite recognize. He doesn’t see the point in drinking expensive beer because frankly, it all tastes the same to him. Ryan doesn’t text though, so he figures any drink is better than nothing. “Can I just get a Corona?”

The bartender seems to ignore him, turning to Colin and when they both laugh, Tyson knows he’s in the wrong place. 

“Just get him one of the Yellow Dog IPAs,” Colin says, tapping Tyson’s menu. “It’s on me.” 

Tyson mumbles a thanks, getting lost in his phone. He’s not interested in whatever it is Kerfy is going on about— if he has to hear about Plato one more time—

“C’mon,” Kerfy says, reaching past Colin and shaking Tyson’s shoulder. “We’re being _social_.”

“Okay, but you know I have no clue what you’re talking about, right?” Tyson doesn’t have anything to contribute, really, but he’d love to talk about something other than philosophy or economics or politics for once. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Colin asks.

“I don’t know,” Tyson chews his bottom lip, thanking the gods when a beer is placed in front of him. “Get on my level.”

“What _is_ your level?” Kerfy’s beer is different, something oddly red. He takes a sip, then smiles, content with his choice. 

“Sports? Movies? Anything other than academic stuff, please.” Tyson lifts his glass, takes a large gulp and nearly sputters when he tastes whatever it is Colin considers beer. “God, what _is_ this?”

Kerfy just laughs. “What did you give him?”

“It’s just an IPA,” Colin says, seems to be enjoying his own, though Tyson can’t for the life of him figure out how. It smells like beer but the taste is strong— something he can’t quite put a finger on, like licking the side of a pine tree. 

“Thanks,” Tyson says, pushing the drink towards Colin. “But no thanks.” He excuses himself, standing up and making his way to the bathroom. It’s quieter in there, free from whatever indie band was playing on the other side. 

He checks his phone again, rolling his eyes and deciding that yet again, he’s been stood up, which whatever. He’s fine. He’ll move on.

It’s not news that Tyson’s totally cursed.

Taking a deep breath, Tyson wills himself to pull himself together, metaphorically brushing it all off. When he walks back out, head high and ready to face the world, he stops halfway. Someone’s sitting in his seat. 

“Hey,” Tyson says, squeezing into the spot between Colin and Kerfy. He’s puzzled as to why neither saved his seat, annoyed that he’s left out of something again. “ What gives? Couldn’t even save my seat?”

“Tyson?”

He looks to his left at Colin. It wasn’t him. Tyson has to do a double take, feeling like maybe his eyes are deceiving him. He blinks quickly, looking past Colin at the person who actually called him. It’s JT.

“Hi,” Tyson says, feeling his face go hot. It’s unexpected. When JT smiles, everything around him fades away. Kerfy says something, but Tyson isn’t listening. Fuck, he thinks. This is actually happening.

“Saved your seat.” JT stands up, but Tyson doesn’t feel like sitting much longer. He does, however, remind himself to thank Colin later, who moves to an open seat on the other side of Kerfy, allowing him to move closer to where JT is standing.

“You drink this shit?” Tyson doesn’t mean to be so blunt, it’s just hard to be anything but when a drink is placed in front of JT.

“Not usually,” JT admits with a coy glance, voice low. “I just picked whichever one was the strongest.”

“Smart,” Tyson says with a laugh. It’s interesting how little he knows about JT, but already thinks they’ll get along just fine. Still, there’s a question lingering on his mind that he’s needing an answer to. “So is this like, your go-to bar or something?”

JT laughs. “No, Alex invited me.”

Tyson’s brain blips a little going from _Who the fuck is Alex_ to _Wait. Kerfy. Kerfy did this! For him!_ and there’s a split second where he could grab Kerfy by the face and kiss him if it weren’t going to make things awkward with JT there. He’s not looking to send the wrong message or anything. If he’s kissing anyone, he’s kind of hoping it’s JT.

Except.

JT laughs, again, touching his arm and sending sparks through him. It would be easy to do— just lean over and kiss him firmly. This time there’s something that holds him back, telling him to take his time with this one.

If he’s really, _actually_ cursed, Tyson isn’t taking any chances.

He looks at Kerfy who gives him a knowing look, turning back when JT, setting down his empty glass, brushes against him. 

“I’m done,” JT says, leaving some cash on the bar. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” 

And _yes_ , Tyson thinks, _of course_ he does. Just… somewhere maybe public. For now. He doesn’t bother looking back over at Kerfy or Colin. They’d kick him for _not_ going. “Do you like breakfast? There’s a diner down the street?”

“Breakfast?” JT raises an eyebrow, checking his watch, like neither actually know what time it is. Then, to Tyson’s relief, he grins. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

Tyson isn’t going to call it a date. They’re two friends (are they friends?) just going out to get something to eat, maybe share a bit of conversation. He calls the Uber and JT leads the way, giving Tyson just enough time to wave to Kerfy upon his exit.

Kerfy texts him, of course, _you’re welcome_.

Tyson, though thankful, doesn’t respond.

..

The diner isn’t that much quieter, full of college kids laughing amongst themselves, filling the tables and booths that line the walls. When they’re seated, Tyson smiles, sheepishly. “I kind of forgot this was a bit of a hot spot.”

JT doesn’t seem to mind too much, grabbing the menu. “How are the milkshakes?”

“I’ve never had them,” Tyson admits. He’s more of a steak and eggs kind of guy himself. It’s a decent-sized menu with typical diner fare, but even then Tyson often strays from his usual order. He likes other things. He also likes staying in his comfort zone.

“So we’re getting two, then.”

JT doesn’t touch him and yet Tyson can just about feel that metaphorical nudge, forcing him out of that comfortable, safe space. It’s less scary when JT grins at him and Tyson realizes that it’s okay to change things up now and again.

“I’ll get a vanilla milkshake,” Tyson decides, which is apparently the wrong answer, judging by the way JT begins to laugh. 

“All of these flavors and you pick vanilla?” JT shakes his head. “All of that hipster beer must have killed your tastebuds.”

“What are _you_ getting then?” Tyson looks over the menu again, chewing his bottom lip. Picking a flavor shouldn’t be difficult. Truth be told the flavor doesn’t matter. When he thinks back to this night, Tyson’s sure that’s one detail that will fall secondary to the rest.

JT doesn’t hesitate. “Only the best flavor. Mint chocolate chip.”

“What are you, a leprechaun?” Tyson laughs, pointing blindly at the menu. When he moves his finger, he reads the words beneath, revealing his choice— “Cherry chocolate chip it is.”

“Never heard _that_ one before,” JT says, dripping with sarcasm, looking slightly scandalized when he must have realized what Tyson’s just done. “Did you just pick the first one you pointed to?”

Tyson, smug, grins. “So what if I did?”

“That’s… a technique.” There’s something about JT, the way he teases Tyson, smiling while he does it. It’s an almost soft ribbing, much unlike the way Kerfy gets when Tyson says something stupid. JT laughs, shakes his head and bows it down in a way that’s hardly judgemental. He’s amused. “Is that how you make all of your tough choices?”

“You told me no vanilla,” Tyson laughs, catching JT’s fond smile. “I improvised.”

“Well I like it.” JT opens the menu, eyes never looking down. He picks something, looks down and instantly wrinkles up his face when he reads what was beneath his finger just moments prior.

Tyson leans over with a grin. “Liver and onions, eh? Adventurous.”

“Dude, no,” JT says, mildly horrified. “As a first-timer, I get a re-do.”

They’re laughing by the time the waitress comes over, Tyson a little too hard. He decides to play nice and give JT not one but three do-overs until he picks something he deems acceptable. JT seems content with an omelette and Tyson ends up with some sort of breakfast quesadilla that he never even knew was on the menu.

Tyson learns between sips of a far too sweet milkshake that JT is still relatively new to town, that he lives with his roommate and his roommate’s hyperactive golden retriever and that he’s pretty funny once he’s pried out of his shell. 

Oh, and he’s obsessed with comic books. This Tyson knew.

It isn’t until they’re outside, walking side by side that Tyson learns just how much. He quite easily delves into the world of Marvel, speaking about it on an almost Kerfy-level of sorts. JT knows what he’s saying. He’s proud and passionate and when Tyson would typically roll his eyes and cut Kerfy off, he finds himself interested in everything JT has to say.

He’s an artist of sorts— an illustrator. Reading and collecting comics as a child, as silly as it sounds, molded his career. Tyson can only imagine being _this_ passionate about something.

“It’s really, really nerdy, I know.” JT laughs and when Tyson looks up, they’re in front of an apartment. JT’s apartment. “I won’t make you read them or look at them or anything like that. Promise.”

“But what if I wanted to?” Tyson smiles, the two of them shuffling awkwardly in front of the tall, brick building. “Or you can show me some of your own stuff.”

“Sounds like a plan,” JT says.

_A plan._

Tyson hopes his face doesn’t give him in— hopes JT doesn’t have some sort of secret super power, like mind reading, because then he’ll _know_ Tyson was pretty sure JT wasn’t about to say _a plan_ — Tyson felt the weight of his words. Had he meant to say date?

“Perfect,” Tyson manages, smiling through their exchange of phone numbers and the hesitant goodnight that almost certainly would end in a kiss in any other circumstance— if Tyson gave up all restraint— 

If Tyson wasn’t cursed.

..

The next time Tyson works, JT comes in around ten. He spends the morning sitting quietly, lost behind his sketchbook. Tyson doesn’t ask, just brings him his usual macchiato, if usual is a term that can be used when it’s only his second one.

His second becomes his third and his fourth and so on when his visits become more frequent until Tyson doesn’t have to question if JT is coming in that day. He learns his schedule and comes to expect that for JT, his morning routine involves a hot macchiato and the fresh page of his sketchbook.

Tyson tries his best to go about his day, serving his customers and taking special care as to _not_ bug JT every time he stops in. He’s working, after all. On occasion, he does stop working— for a glass of water, to show Tyson what he’s been working on, to just make small talk.

He draws superheroes, of course, but he draws so much more, too. Tyson is amazed when JT flips to a previous page and he’s met with a drawing of a vast mountain range that he swears was drawn from memory. There’s portraits, too. At first, they’re people he doesn’t recognize. JT shows him one of a younger girl with vaguely familiar features.

“My little sister,” JT says, feeling proud. “I don’t see her as often as we’d both like. She’s away at college.”

“Is she smarter than you?” Tyson grins.

JT closes the sketchbook, reaching for one of the comic books. “You can ask her when she visits next month.”

Tyson doesn’t think that’s necessarily an in but—

“You idiot, that was _totally_ an in,” Kerfy says later that night. “He wants you to meet his family.”

“ _Sister_ ,” Tyson corrects because it isn’t like JT is trying to bring him home to mom. “And if she’s visiting of course she would stop by with him. What’s he supposed to do, leave her home?”

“No, he’s going to drag her there so they can _both_ stare at you all day.” Kerfy’s kidding, obviously, but Tyson can’t help but wonder _what if_. It’s a thought that makes him a little anxious. 

“Shut up,” Tyson says because there’s no reason a hypothetical situation that will never actually occur should make him nervous. He and JT are friends. JT just happens to spend most days there, getting snuck free drinks on occasion in exchange for conversation. “He doesn’t stare.”

“Uh, Earth to Tyson.” Kerfy waves his hand in front of Tyson’s face. “That’s all he’s been doing.”

“He’s been drawing,” Tyson retorts, trying his hardest not to get defensive. So what if JT looks at him. Tyson probably said something stupid a little too loudly, probably made a customer laugh and JT, in turn looked up. So what if he was assessing the situation now and again. What did Kerfy expect JT to do? Stare at the wall?

Kerfy shrugs, “Whatever you say, man.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tyson isn’t that dumb. He knows what it means.

“Why do you think he was so quick to come to the bar?” 

Tyson doesn’t make it into a _thing_. JT is new in town, doesn’t have a lot of friends and found that unexpectedly in Tyson. He thinks, maybe, if they had kissed, the universe would have allowed it— that if he were meant to, he’d have done it by now.

 _Maybe_.

He sighs, reaching in his pocket and sending JT a quick text. “We’re friends. You know I’m not like, dating material anyway. I can’t get past a first date without fucking it all up.”

“That’s the problem,” Kerfy says. “You don’t date.”

He dates. God, does he date. Guys, girls— anyone who gives him attention is fair game because they could be different— they could be the one to break this imaginary curse that Tyson’s built up in his head— they could fall in love.

When date after date ends on a high, Tyson goes to bed with a _this time could be different_ type of optimism that can’t be shaken. He’s always promised a call or a text.

He’s also almost always ghosted.

When he isn’t, it’s a random _sorry, who is this?_ text that he’s pretty certain is so much worse.

Tyson chalks it up to the dating scene being brutal and never being quite all that great at gauging if his suitor is having a good time. Maybe it’s because Tinder isn’t the best option— because he’s often full of awkward jokes and his time is better spent kissing than trying to find a common ground.

He _likes_ JT a lot. He’s not about to throw that away. Being friends is totally, absolutely fine. It’s a lie he’ll tell himself over and over until not only Kerfy believes it, but Tyson does, too.

“You said dating is stupid.” Tyson laughs, if only to cover his annoyance. “That romantic literature paints it all wrong, that none of that actually happens. It’s all bullshit. So why go on another date?”

“Romantic literature is stupid,” Kerfy points out. “Because most of those situations are outrageously unrealistic. You’ve seen Titanic.”

“That wasn’t impossible,” Tyson says, imagining that maybe the mixing of different financial classes was a little looked down upon, but love doesn’t discriminate. He wonders if meeting the right one is often like the movies show— with a spark igniting deep in your heart. “They were really in love.”

Kerfy shakes his head. “Yeah and see how that played out for them. My point is it was written because without some unrealistic love story, no one cared about the basis of the true story— the ship. Leave it humans to turn something tragic into something depressingly romantic, I guess.”

“Okay, but how do you know that didn’t actually happen?” Tyson furrows his brows. He’s not like, an expert on Titanic or anything, but logic tells him it was a pretty big boat. Someone, somewhere had to have met and fallen in love upon it at least once.

“Does it really matter?” Kerfy’s tone falls flat. “They’re all dead.”

“C’mon,” Tyson says, frowning. “That’s really dark and not the point.”

“Tys, that’s _completely_ the point!” Kerfy throws his arms in the air, like he often does when he’s given up on an argument that seems to go over Tyson’s head. “You can’t gloss over the ending because the story itself was romantic.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Tyson isn’t looking for a history lesson, nor does he need romantic advice from Kerfy. He’s perfectly capable of going on a date. Possibly.

“You can’t live your life chasing soulmates and shit. None of that’s real.” Kerfy’s voice softens. Tyson appreciates that he’s at least trying to be understanding. “Relationships suck. People fight. They break up. You think you’ve met the one and poof, they’re gone. It happens. A lot.”

Tyson doesn’t quite feel like trying much after that. “That’s… encouraging.”

“Oh, not at all,” Kerfy says. “But you have to expect the bullshit. That’s part of it. How else do you expect to find yourself a good one? Think about it.”

To say Tyson does is an understatement.

..

“What are you drawing today?” Tyson leans over JT’s shoulder, pouting when he quickly closes his sketchbook.

“It’s nothing,” JT says, quick to continue when Tyson looks disappointed. “I can’t show you. Not until it’s finished. I have all of these deadlines and honestly, as stupid as this sounds, I don’t let anyone see my bigger projects until they’re done.”

Tyson pulls out the adjacent seat, sitting. “Why not?”

“Superstition?” JT shrugs. “And if you laugh, I’m never showing you another drawing again.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t laugh” Tyson says, holding his hand up. “Do you have anything finished you can show me?”

JT purses his lips and then, “Nope.”

“Oh.” Tyson frowns. He’s slow in standing again, looking over his shoulder. There’s no one at the counter— no real excuse not to talk to JT, besides the fact that he seems on edge from the interruption. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Sorry,” JT says with a sigh. “I’m just really stressed is all. Here.” He reaches for another book, smaller with bent corners and flips a few pages in, landing on a page full of tall, rectangular buildings and something oval in the foreground. Tyson’s never been there, but he recognizes it only as Chicago.

“I like that,” Tyson says with a grin. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Sometimes,” JT admits, smile forming. “But it’s nice here, too.”

It’s in that moment that Tyson decides it’s currently his own favorite place to be. He thinks about asking JT for something of his own, something he can hang in his own place— then he remembers just how stressed JT is. He’ll ask another time.

“I guess I should get back to work,” Tyson says when Gabe comes in the front door, newspaper under his arm. “But you should show me more of your stuff. It’s really good.”

“It’s _okay_.” JT smiles. “And thank you.”

It isn’t until Tyson is back at the counter, handing Gabe his cup of coffee that he catches JT’s eye. He hears JT’s voice again— _it’s okay_ — and wants to tell him just how wrong he is— that it’s so much more than just _okay_. 

“Thanks,” Gabe says, snapping Tyson out of the trance he didn’t know he was under. “You two are pretty cute together, you know.” 

Tyson inhales only to choke on air. He shakes his head, struggling to speak. “What? No.”

“No?” Gabe turns around just as JT looks up. “Oh. Well, okay.”

Tyson spends the rest of his shift finding things to do— dipping fresh biscotti, cleaning the counters— anything to avoid JT. The thing is, he doesn’t know _why_ he’s avoiding JT. It just… happens. 

At the end of his shift, JT leans against the counter. “I’m finally done.”

“So I can see it now?” Tyson unties his apron, smiling as if he’s just won the lottery. JT doesn’t make a move for his books, now nestled away in his backpack. 

“No, not yet,” JT says, standing up straighter. “My roommate ditched me for dinner tonight. You want to come over and I can order a pizza?”

“Pizza?” Tyson glances over at Kerfy who’s far too busy with his face in another huge book to pay any mind to his surroundings. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“Cool, thanks.”

“Kerf,” Tyson calls and Kerfy barely lifts his head. He would be certain he hadn’t heard him if it weren’t for the slight grunt that escapes him. “I’m going to get pizza with JT.”

“Good,” Kerfy mumbles, going back to his reading.

Tyson laughs, pulling his jacket tighter once he’s outside. The weather, at some point, took a turn, dropping more than he planned for. JT laughs, too, and Tyson’s sure if it were a few degrees colder, he’d see his breath.

JT is the first to break the silence once they’re a safe distance from the shop. “Is Kerfy always like that?”

“A dick?” Tyson grins, nodding. “Yup.”

JT hums in response, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Tyson says, wondering when he started to defend the world’s most eccentric roommate. “He’s just, uh.”

“A nerd?”

“God,” Tyson laughs. “Such a nerd. And not a comic book nerd like you. An _actual_ nerd.”

“Gee, thanks.” JT adjusts the strap of his backpack once they cross the street. “Good to know I’m a _cool_ nerd. What do you do for fun? Don’t say video games.”

“What’s wrong with video games?” Tyson plays them, of course, but he’s not like, obsessed or anything. He knows when to stop and isn’t about to rush out and get a Fortnite costume for Halloween or anything like that.

“Knew it,” JT says, looking a bit too smug. “Got you pegged. Nerd.”

“That’s just—” Tyson opens his mouth to argue, because he’s _not_ a nerd. He’s easygoing, he knows how to have fun and he, unlike some people, doesn’t spend day in and out face first in a book— academic or otherwise. There’s nothing wrong with that, really, it’s just _not_ Tyson.

“Come on.” JT bumps his side, motioning to a building in the near distance. Tyson’s only seen it once, but already knows it’s his apartment. “I’m on the fourth floor.”

Inside is an entirely different world than Tyson imagined, one that leaves him standing in the doorway as he takes in the details of JT’s life that are scattered across the apartment. There’s some golf clubs in one corner, art supplies in another— a car magazine on the table. He remembers there’s a roommate— one small detail that seems to complicate things. Not all of these things tell the story of JT. Not all of these things are his.

He guesses the golf clubs belong to his roommate.

And the dog.

By the time he remembers the dog, he’s knocked back against the wall by two large, fuzzy paws that press against his chest.

“Oh, shit,” JT starts to laugh, reaching for the dog by the collar. “Rusty, get down!”

“It’s okay,” Tyson says, petting the dog’s head once he’s led all four paws back down to the floor. Rusty doesn’t calm down easily, but at least it’s just his tail that whips around this time. “He’s just excited.”

“He acts like he never gets any attention.” JT rolls his eyes, dropping his backpack by a door that Tyson can only assume leads to his bedroom. “Do you want a drink or something?”

Tyson shrugs, moving to the couch. It’s easier to pet Rusty that way. He can tell that JT’s trying his hardest to pretend he’s annoyed— that maybe he isn’t the _most_ excited to be living with a dog that starts zipping across the apartment for no apparent reason— that Tyson’s amusement might make the entire thing worth it, if even for a short moment. 

“I was promised pizza,” Tyson says once the dog retreats to a bed in the corner and JT returns with their drinks. JT sets them down, sinking into the couch when he sits. 

“Already ordered.” Remote in hand, JT flips on the television. “I hope you’re okay with cheese and pepperoni. I don’t do any of that weird, extra stuff.”

“Cheese and pepperoni is fine,” Tyson says. _All of this is fine_ , he thinks.

..

It’s late when Tyson finally unlocks the front door and practically tip-toes inside of the apartment to avoid making any unnecessary noise. He thinks Kerfy is probably asleep— most normal people are.

Kerfy isn’t exactly normal.

Tyson isn’t surprised when the hall light comes on and Kerfy comes out from his bedroom, grinning as if he’s caught Tyson red-handed.

Tyson’s gotten better, gotten quieter, but he’s still unphased those nights when Kerfy waits up for him, wanting all of the dirty details of whatever it is he thinks occurred— this time at JT’s apartment.

“You’re home late,” Kerfy says, muffling a yawn like he was _actually_ asleep and not up late reading again.

Tyson replays the story, from the dog to the pizza— how JT convinced him to watch a Marvel movie— how JT _critiqued_ said movie the entire time, comparing bits and pieces to comic books Tyson’s never read.

“He was almost like you, but with the Marvelverse,” Tyson says with a laugh that’s a little too fond. “Said he’ll show me the comics next time for reference.”

“Wow, you’re dating a nerd.”

“We’re not dating!” Tyson gives Kerfy a light, much deserved shove. “And yeah, whatever, fine, he’s a nerd but that’s rich coming from you.”

“I’m smart, there’s a difference,” Kerfy says, crossing his arms across his chest. “I know you didn’t watch that entire movie anyway.”

Tyson raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, we did.”

“You two were alone and you just _watched_ a movie?” Kerfy stares at Tyson as if he has two heads— like it’s not only unbelievable coming from Tyson, but entirely impossible for two adults to be alone and _just_ watch a movie.

“I told you,” Tyson says for what he’s certain is the tenth time. “We ate pizza, we watched the Avengers and then I went home.”

“And that’s it?”

“ _That’s it_ ,” Tyson repeats, too tired to drag the discussion out much longer. “I’m going to bed.”

“Mhm,” Kerfy hums. “But if I find out something else happened—”

Tyson rolls his eyes, already halfway into his room before he shouts down the hallway. “Nothing else happened!”

Closing his door is far too satisfying.

When he gets into bed, he’s surprised to find a text from JT.

_Thanks for the company. Feel free to stop by anytime even if it’s to spend all of your time petting Rusty. He told me he really likes you._

Tyson laughs because yeah, okay, dogs can’t talk and even if they could, he’s sure Rusty likes anyone who tosses him pepperoni when JT isn’t looking. It’s the next thought that really messes with his head— the _what if_ that makes him wonder if JT is bending the truth. He pictures JT kneeling down, petting Rusty and telling the dog how much he likes Tyson. It’s nothing he can prove actually happened. It probably didn’t. 

It’s a stupid thought that Tyson has to literally shake out of his head.

 _Thanks hahah_ , is all Tyson replies because as fond as he’s become of all that is JT, he is _not_ talking to his roommate’s dog via text message.

 _Good night_ , JT texts.

 _Night_ , Tyson responds.

When he pulls the covers up and closes his eyes, Tyson smiles. He decides in that hazy moment before sleep takes hold that tomorrow he’ll surprise JT with comics and company and maybe, if he’s brave, a kiss. Just _maybe_.

He’s cursed after all.

..

Tyson’s morning is spent laying in bed and texting JT. He learns that he’s staying around home today— because Lauren is nice and all, but she doesn’t quite make a macchiato the way Tyson does. It’s a compliment he takes, though not after reminding JT that it’s a drink that’s very hard to mess up.

By noon, he’s showered and ready to go forth with a plan he’s cooked up in his head. Kerfy’s moving around in the kitchen, plates clinking and Tyson’s pretty sure he’s only stopped back at the apartment because Tyson is off today which means no mid-day lunch run.

“Hi,” Tyson says, walking past the kitchen and waving to Kerfy on his way towards the front door. “Bye!”

“Whoa, whoa.” Kerfy doesn’t bother setting down the spatula he’s holding as he rounds the island counter and follows close behind. “Where are you going?”

“Out.” Tyson slips into his shoes and grabs his jacket from the hook, pulling it on. He doesn’t feel like he really needs to explain much more than that. If Kerfy’s so self-proclaimed smart, he can figure it out.

“Out where?” Kerfy waves the spatula towards the door, looking for answers.

Tyson opens the door with a grin, slipping into the hallway. He’s not purposely being secretive, it’s just more fun to keep Kerfy guessing. When he waves, Kerfy swats at him with the spatula.

“Tell JT he better have you home at a reasonable hour.” Kerfy tries his hardest to maintain the most serious of expressions but fails, laughing when Tyson snorts at him.

“Yes dad,” Tyson says with a playful roll of his eyes. “I’ll see you later.” He continues laughing, even when he climbs into his car. It’s a weird place to end up— alone and laughing in your own car, but there’s a method to Tyson’s madness— one he hopes will come to full fruition once he’s reached JT’s. 

But first to the comic book store.

Tyson, admittedly, has no idea what he’s looking for. He knows Marvel, obviously, but from there it’s all a blur. It’s how he finds himself standing in front of racks, pacing, lost. He grabs one, looks it over, and uneasiness washes over him when he recognizes it only as the comic Ryan had left with just weeks prior.

That one has bad karma— that one he puts back.

He reaches for something else instead, a Guardians of the Galaxy comic that’s sitting in the new releases pile. There’s a voice, the shop owner, who tells him that one’s new— just delivered today. There’s little to no hesitation then, Tyson walking it right up to the counter. It’s the one.

Tyson’s phone buzzes and once he climbs back into his car, he checks. It’s JT, letting him know he’s fully planning on ordering dinner and that Tyson should probably plan on staying. It’s the polite thing to do.

 _Haha sure_ , Tyson texts back before sticking his phone in the center console. He’s only a short distance away and by the time his phone vibrates, he’s already parking in front of JT’s. There’s no reason to text back when all that’s left between Tyson and JT’s couch is a few walls and a set of stairs.

The almost neon glow of the low sun seems to create a path directly towards JT’s apartment— one he follows unintentionally, soaking in the little bit of warmth that comes only after a week of darker, cloudy skies. Tyson feels happy, optimistic even, as he climbs the stairs and rounds the corner. Nothing can bring him down.

He presses the buzzer, bagged comic hidden behind his back, and waits.

What feels like forever, in reality, is just a few seconds. When the door opens, JT is standing there, hands slightly charcoal-dusted and grinning. “Hey.”

“I brought you something,” Tyson says, motioning to JT’s hands. “But you probably don’t want to touch it looking like that.”

JT swings the door open and Tyson steps in, the familiarity of the apartment surrounding him. He’s only been inside once before but it easily feels like somewhere that could become significant to him over time.

“It’s just pencil.” JT laughs, trying to peer over Tyson’s shoulder, but Tyson turns, covering his gift. “But fine, okay, I’ll wash my hands.”

Tyson grins rather proudly when JT makes his way across the apartment, opting to wash his hands in the kitchen. He leaves behind a coffee table covered in various sketches, most of which Tyson hasn’t seen before. And they’re good.

He leans over, reaching out, turning one to get a better look. They’re of people, mostly— ones he’s never met— some which he isn’t even entirely sure exist. There’s something unique about them, almost mystical.

“Hey.”

Tyson jumps when he realizes JT’s behind him. JT can only laugh.

“Sorry,” Tyson says, sheepish. “I was just curious.”

“Even though I told you everything was secret?” JT grins.

Tyson feels slightly bad being nosy but in his defense, they _were_ left out in the open. If JT was that worried about them being seen… 

“You can look at these ones, it’s okay.” JT’s laugh is a relief. He shifts some papers around and it’s quiet— _too quiet_. Tyson can hear the paper rustle, JT breathe and the way one particular drawing sounds when it hits the table.

It’s about the same time Tyson realizes his roommate’s dog isn’t there— isn’t barking, running in circles or sending papers flying. The same exact time Tyson looks at the portrait that’s facing him, staring at him. He can only sputter. “Ryan?”

It’s then Tyson’s stomach rolls, the feeling that he is really, _truly_ cursed hitting him hard. If he could, he’d press a button in that moment, freezing reality and slipping into a corner— pretending he didn’t just see what he thinks he saw. Knowing far too well that JT knows Ryan.

Rusty barks— somewhere— Tyson can’t tell. Everything begins to blur, leaving him feeling as if he’s underwater, seeking air. Fast.

“Wait…,” the voice says, sounding a little unsure. “It’s Tyson, right?” 

Tyson doesn’t have to look to know who it is, just _knows_ there’s a familiarity in the way his name is spoken. The portrait, the voice, the _comics_. It all adds up.

He turns around, slowly, knowing he’s going to regret it— knowing that face the second he sees it. It’s that same crooked grin, matching the portrait below. “Fuck,” Tyson mumbles. “Ryan?”

“Wait, you two know each other?” The universe must be laughing at him, because Tyson turns again when JT looks between them, frowning.

“Kind of,” Tyson says at the same time Ryan gives a flat, rather unsympathetic, “Not really.”

JT chews on his bottom lip, quiet, confused.

 _Oh god, oh god, oh god_ , Tyson thinks, heart beating on overdrive. Ryan looks at him like he knows he’s fucked up— like Tyson’s on the verge of fucking up, too.

It’s awkward, uncomfortable and before Tyson’s brain can catch up with the rest of him, he’s already running down the sidewalk.

There’s so much blood rushing to his ears, pounding so loudly that he doesn’t think JT calls his name. If he does, he never hears him. All he _can_ hear are his sneakers hitting the pavement, his car when he starts it and the squeal of his tires when he floors it out of there.

He doesn’t go home. Kerfy will be there, quick to ask too many questions he isn’t ready to answer, most of them being about JT. 

There’s a familiar buzz of his phone that causes him to jerk, letting it drop and slide somewhere beneath the passenger seat. If JT thinks he’s coming back, he’s out of his mind.

In the end, Tyson opts for sitting at the edge of the park, unmoving until the sun is long gone below the horizon. The sun’s warmth leaves with it, temperature dropping and making Tyson shiver slightly beneath his light jacket.

When the cold becomes unbearable, he, reluctantly, goes home.

..

It must be luck that Kerfy doesn’t question— doesn’t even ask Tyson about JT the following night. Maybe it helps that Tyson spends most of the day keeping himself busy, cleaning counters and tending to customers, that Kerfy doesn’t have time to approach him. He’s also, as usual, elbows deep in school work.

After they’ve closed, he mumbles something about an Uber and that he’s going out— not to wait up because he’ll be back late. He braces himself for the JT comment, but those words never evolve, like JT’s never actually existed.

“Don’t make a lot of noise coming in,” Kerfy says, scribbling in one notebook while flipping through another.

Tyson nods, doing what he does best when he knows he’s screwed up and heads straight to the club.

The music is loud enough to drown out his thoughts and soon enough, he isn’t thinking about coffee or comics, JT or Ryan or anyone in between.

He dances with strangers. He lets his phone die. He does another shot. He forgets.

Tyson’s pretty certain he’s spiraling out of control when he brings home the first guy to give him the attention and distraction he’s so desperately seeking. He’s tall, cute and they’re making out before they get passed the front door.

When he wakes up, he’s alone. 

He rolls over, mumbling to himself, nearly knocking over the glass of water at his bedside table. At least his hook-up was nice enough to make sure he’s properly hydrated— a little too late, he thinks, when the rooms spins.

There’s a moment of panic that arises when his phone buzzes amidst his reaching for the pair of sweatpants that lay discarded at the foot of his bed.

_JT knows. JT knows. JT knows._

His brain plays on repeat and logically, JT _wouldn’t_ know— even if he did, it shouldn’t matter. JT is his friend— his pretty much best friend at this point, in a world where Kerfy doesn’t understand him and JT just seems to _get it_ all too well. It’s nice to have someone in his corner, when Kerfy and Colin get far too philosophical— when he wants to drink cheap beer and act stupid, free from judgement. He’d be stupid to fuck it all up over a ridiculous crush.

It isn’t JT who texts him. It’s his mom.

Tyson loves his mom, really. Outside of JT, she’s like, his best friend and confidant in a world gone mad— the one he makes sure to call each and every single day just to say hello. It’s just… calling her after a booty call isn’t exactly ideal. 

He sends her a text, promising to call later, when he’s able to stand without his stomach churning. Pulling on his sweatpants, he slips out of his room, so _so_ glad that Kerfy is at work.

Or so he thought.

“Oh, you’re awake?” Kerfy grins from his spot on the sofa, motioning towards the door. He’s, in typical Kerfy fashion, surrounded in books, papers spread across the table— his laptop on one end, coffee at the other. “Your friend left an hour ago. Nearly shit himself when he snuck out of your room and saw me.”

Tyson groans, running a hand over his face. “Well he’s probably not coming back, so.”

“Good,” Kerfy says, flipping the page of his book. “You can do better. He was kind of an idiot.”

“You think everyone is an idiot, Kerf.” Tyson would laugh if his head weren’t pounding— if the light shining in didn’t make it all worse. 

“Yes, well.” Kerfy leans forward, grabbing his coffee, just about chugging it. “They usually are.”

“I mean I didn’t invite him over to read Shakespeare,” Tyson says, pressing his palms against his closed eyes. When he opens them again, Kerfy is in the kitchen, pouring another mug of coffee.

“Here.” Kerfy passes the mug off to Tyson, shaking his head. “Is this just what you do now?”

“Thanks.” Tyson accepts the coffee, taking a long drink. It warms him and though it doesn’t instantly soothe his headache away, knows it’ll take the edge off. “What? Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging,” Kerfy says. He’s stern, a bit like Tyson’s mother. It’s a little scary. “But don’t you think you should break the cycle?”

“There’s no _cycle_.” Tyson doesn’t mean to snap. He only does because maybe Kerfy’s right.

“What happened with JT?” The one question Tyson knew was coming sooner or later.

Tyson clenches and unclenches his fists, stomach sinking at the drop of his name. “Nothing.”

Kerfy’s laugh is brash— sharper than usual. “And you’re a bad liar.”

“We’re still friends.” It’s not a complete lie. “We’ve just been busy.”

“That’s not exactly what JT’s saying,” Kerfy says. It throws Tyson off. JT never showed up, never confronted him after he ran out, which means if he’s talking to Kerfy, he’s _texting_ him.

Tyson’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“He said you made out with his roommate and ran out of his apartment.” Kerfy doesn’t give him the judgemental look he’s inspecting. He frowns, but squeezes his arm, as if he’s _trying_ to understand the way Tyson operates.

“I didn’t make out with him yesterday!” Tyson wrinkles his nose, ears feeling hot. Had he known Ryan lived with JT, he’d have never even considered making out with him. Even then, that was _weeks_ ago— something that Tyson had finally moved on from.

Kerfy just laughs. “But you made out with him before?”

“On accident!” Tyson throws his arms in the air. He’s far from embarrassed because really, he’s done stupider, knowing that this is just another one of those situations that only he could end up in. It was a kiss or two and so what if he was living in the moment— it isn’t like he owed JT anything— in the end, it wasn’t like Ryan wanted him. “I didn’t know he was JT’s roommate!”

“Well, he is,” Kerfy says with the slightest of smirks. Tyson isn’t surprised to find he’s amused by someone else’s misfortune. Then, something changes. Kerfy grabs his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Look, you fucked up again, whatever.”

“ _Again_ ,” Tyson repeats, slightly offended. Not that Kerfy’s wrong.

“Did you know the Titanic was on fire for four days before it hit the iceberg?” Kerfy looks dead serious. 

“What? No it wasn’t?” Tyson raises an eyebrow. It’s not exactly where he saw this conversation headed, but with Kerfy, anything is possible. If it’s meant to be a diversion, it just might work. “And you’re _still_ on this?”

“Yes, actually it was,” Kerfy says, matter-of-factly.

Tyson shakes his head, refusing to believe something so silly. He’s seen the movie, even read up a little afterwards out of curiosity. He knows he isn’t the only one, knows there’s _millions_ of people who know the story, if even from the movie— the movie that didn’t exactly cover that supposed fact. “That’s dumb. Why wasn’t it in the movie then?”

“Yeah, because it was kept a secret.” 

“Why?” Tyson worries his bottom lip.

“Be honest.” Kerfy releases Tyson’s shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. “Would you step foot on a boat that you knew was on fire?”

“Obviously not,” Tyson says, unconvinced. He’s reckless, but he isn’t stupid.

Kerfy hums. “Exactly.”

“Kerf,” Tyson sighs. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“You’re the one who’s all head-in-the-clouds romantic,” Kerfy says with a little grin. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“So you’re saying I have to throw myself into the fire?” Tyson mumbles a low _Jesus Kerf_ to himself. Kerfy’s full of strange ideas, but this has to be the worst to date.

“No, idiot.” Kerfy shifts his weight between his feet, going quiet momentarily. His face tells Tyson that he’s looking for the right words to explain what goes on up inside of his head. “It’s about taking risks, sometimes ones you don’t even know you’re taking.”

“So…” Tyson knows Kerfy is being metaphorical if anything, but it doesn’t stop him from picturing himself climbing aboard a burning boat because JT is there. 

“He likes you,” Kerfy says blatantly. “What are you so afraid of?”

Tyson inhales. He exhales. There’s no real way to explain it without sounding crazy and so does just _goes_ with what he’s pretty sure he’s known all along. “I’m cursed.”

Kerfy is, as Tyson knows, far too logical to believe in something as unrealistic as a curse. He expects mocking or even laughter. When he gets neither of those in response, he continues. 

“People like me, _usually_.” Tyson thinks back to countless scenarios. The chase is _never_ the problem. “Then I kiss them and it’s like something switches and they think I’m repulsive.”

“C’mon, you know there’s no such thing,” Kerfy says, logical as usual. “Maybe you should just stop kissing assholes. The right person won’t let you drown.”

Tyson rolls his eyes, laughing softly. “Enough with the boat puns.”

“Talk to JT.”

“Maybe,” Tyson says, voice low and trailing off. He’s considering it. If anyone is the right person, then it _has_ to be JT.

..

“Let me in.” Tyson leans his arm against the wall, face close to the speaker. He’s already buzzed twice and knows JT is home.

JT, grumbling, finally comes over the speaker. “What do you want? Ryan isn’t here.”

“I came to see _you_ ,” Tyson says, voice cracking around the edges. It’s quiet for quite some time and Tyson’s just about to give up when he hears JT’s sigh followed by the telltale buzz of the door. He doesn’t wait for JT’s voice, swinging open the door and taking to the stairs. It’s not until he reaches JT’s door, breathless, that he hesitates.

The door creaks, opens and JT appears, eyes heavy and face scruffier than usual. He looks annoyed, but it quickly fades away when he opens the door wider. “Look, I’m sorry okay?”

“Why are _you_ sorry?” Tyson raises an eyebrow, glancing past JT. It’s quiet, which means neither Ryan nor his dog are around.

JT shrugs, stepping aside so that Tyson’s able to walk inside. “I mean it’s not like I had a right to be jealous or anything.”

“Wait.” Tyson’s brain short-circuits. “Jealous?”

The thing is, Tyson isn’t sure _what_ JT is jealous of. He’d like to think that JT’s into him— that JT’s jealous Tyson kissed Ryan— but then his mind takes the irrational route, telling him _what if_. _What if_ it’s Ryan that JT’s wanted all of this time.

JT clears his throat. “Can I show you something?”

Tyson nods, closing the door behind him. There’s papers strewn about, per usually, though blank and so unlike JT. He’s usually so inspired, covered in charcoal and surrounded by drawings. This time, there’s pages crumpled amongst the spread of stark white, untouched paper. “Were you drawing?”

“Trying but, uh, no, not really.” JT runs a hand over his face, grabbing a sketchbook from beneath the table. “I haven’t really been all that inspired the last few days. Kind of hard without my muse.”

“The bookstore?” Tyson frowns. It isn’t like he meant to chase JT from his place of inspiration.

“Here.” JT opens the sketchbook, turns it around and places it into Tyson’s hands.

Tyson glances down at first, catching a few features he can’t mistake as belonging to anyone else. He looks again, eyes widening when it registers that it’s his very own face smiling back up at him. “Why did you…?”

“I mean if you don’t like it,” JT says quickly, reaching for the book.

“No.” Tyson doesn’t let go. “It’s really good. But I mean like, why _me_? Especially when you could have drawn Gabe or something. I bet you could probably hang his face in a gallery.”

“Tyson,” JT says, soft. This time, when he grabs the sketchbook, Tyson’s fingers go loose, letting it go. He allows it to rest at the end of the table, hand catching Tyson by the forearm. 

“JT?” Tyson barely registers his surroundings when JT crowds him. He knows what happens next.

Tyson’s chest tightens the minute their lips meet, hands cupping the side of JT’s face, like he’ll slip away into nothing should he let him go. He thinks he should have resisted— ready for _this_ yet not ready for it all to abruptly end. JT’s been his favorite so far.

It’s JT who deepens the kiss— JT who’s thumb brushes his cheek, reassuring him and silently letting him know it’s okay to be a little nervous. 

_Fuck it_ , the little voice in his head tells him, because if JT doesn’t want to kiss him anymore after this, then it’s his own loss. He’ll be heartbroken for awhile, but Tyson’s heart is strong and capable of loving again and again, despite how many times it’s crushed. Next time he’ll love even harder.

“This okay?” JT’s thumb runs over his bottom lip as he pulls away in what feels like the beginning on the end. If his touch is a spark, him pulling away is the aftermath that leaves Tyson static and slightly frizzled. 

He musters up a noise, words caught and brain lagging behind. Tyson could stop things dead, let JT down easy and head home. He knows it’ll sting, the image alone of JT’s face dropping being unbearable. The thing is, he doesn't _want_ to stop. The damage is done, anyway. JT laughs, he thinks, hearing a soft mixing with that he’s sure is his very own heart pounding. 

“We can stop,” JT says, voice just above a whisper. He thinks that maybe it’s because he never answered.

Tyson shakes his head, tugs JT in by his collar and kisses him again, _hard_.

They pass the couch that’s covered in art supplies and land in JT’s room. It’s exactly as Tyson’s pictured, surrounded with comics and action figures. He’d look more, maybe even snicker and call JT a nerd, had his thoughts not been wiped completely blank by JT’s mouth hovering at the hollow of his neck.

“We’re alone,” JT mumbles, just above a whisper and yeah, Tyson’s gathered. Then it clicks. JT isn’t just telling him— he _suggesting_ , tugging him across the room, leading him easily towards the bed.

Tyson doesn’t expect satin sheets or rose petals and the world around him doesn’t seem to slow. Things just… are. JT kisses him, he kisses back— he lays down, then laughs when JT bumps his elbow on the headboard in a poor attempt at getting undressed as quickly as possible. Tyson helps him, fingers hooking beneath the hem of his shirt. When it’s up and off, things still don’t freeze— _much_. 

“How long do we have?” Tyson focuses on his own shirt rather than JT’s bare torso. When it falls to the floor, JT’s palm, warm and strong, presses against his chest. He kind of hopes they have forever.

JT shrugs, kissing him slow, lingering and easing him onto his back.

Tyson picture’s JT’s hands, pencil in hand, gliding across a fresh, blank page of his sketchpad. It’s a stark contrast to the way he runs his hand along Tyson’s body, lower and lower until it sends a shiver down his spine. JT seems to notice, taking his time. He’s slow. A little _too_ slow.

“C’mon,” Tyson says, steadying his breathing the best he can. Just because he’s needy doesn’t mean he wants JT to know— yet.

JT takes the cue, wrapping a hand around Tyson’s dick, stroking slow and steady. Tyson’s head spins instantly and he isn’t quite sure when JT adds lube, just knows that it doesn’t take long before his hips jerk up and everything quickens, eliciting only the most obscene sounds from his half-opened mouth.

Tyson thinks he might come— has to grip JT’s wrist and it’s enough to stop everything dead on the spot. 

“Is that not okay?” JT’s hand moves down, resting over Tyson’s thigh.

And it’s not like Tyson wants to admit just how worked up he is— how easily JT gets him going without trying, but he doesn’t want it to end just as soon as it’s getting good, either. “It’s really, _really_ okay.”

JT’s hard to read, stuck between impressed and puzzled, or so Tyson thinks, until just like that they’re kissing again only this time, it’s rough and downright desperate. 

“Can I?” JT asks and Tyson doesn’t have to think twice, nodding, practically pleading.

The first finger fills him up, cold but slick, working into him, though not nearly enough. JT adds a second and Tyson’s hips jerk, moan caught low in his throat. He’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t _that_ good. It’s the third finger, twisting and turning that makes him choke on a near sob.

“Fuck me, _please_ ,” Tyson nearly begs.

JT seems to have thought ahead, briefly fumbling with a condom, lining himself up and pushing in with a moan that Tyson’s brain instantly recognizes as utterly pornographic. He curses beneath his breath as JT sinks in, sure he won’t last long now.

Tyson’s breathing quickens the exact moment JT begins to thrust and it’s not long before his moans catch up with him and leave him a near incoherent mess. There’s a gentle roughness in the way JT grips his hips and alternates his thrusts, hard, fast and occasionally shallow, all checking off different boxes on Tyson’s brain— all pushing him close to the end.

Something twists deep within Tyson’s stomach, warm and familiar, guiding him to wrap a hand around himself with a few quick flicks of his wrist. When he comes, he’s pretty sure he nearly passes out.

He knows he doesn’t— JT mumbles, “I got you,” and just like that, he believes him.

JT thrusts a few more times, head tilted down slightly when he comes with a groan.

They stay like that, quiet and breathing for awhile, until Tyson, reluctantly, knows he has to go. It’s always his least favorite part.

He pulls his shirt on over his head, hand running through what he can only imagine are now some rather unruly curls. JT’s soft laugh is what confirms it to be true. “I can’t believe Kerfy is making me do inventory at 6 AM. I swear, he hates me.”

“Probably,” JT confirms, reaching out to touch Tyson’s arm ever so lightly. “But I mean, I don’t. So that has to be something.”

“Something.” Tyson smiles. He doesn’t think about how that’s likely to change by morning.

JT smiles back, soft and reassuring. Tyson can feel his heart yanking forward, begging him to stay, brain fighting back, telling him no.

They walk to the front door together, quietly, if only because neither know what else to say. Before touching the doorknob, Tyson makes sure to turn towards JT, getting one last look at his smile.

“Goodnight,” Tyson whispers, voice catching in the back of his throat. He considers, briefly, telling Kerfy to fuck off, risking it all for a few more hours. In the end, Tyson’s brain wins this one, telling him It’ll hurt less if he _doesn't_ see JT’s face the moment it all unravels.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” JT says, oh so sure of himself. The smile hurts but it’s the gentle, meaningful kiss that causes Tyson’s heart to break within his chest.

“Tomorrow.” Tyson nods, forcing a smile.

He only makes it halfway to his car before he breaks down.

..

That night, Tyson doesn’t sleep.

He gets up, he goes to work and silently curses Kerfy through most of the morning. He hates inventory, he hates books and until he’s finished his third, pretty sure he even hates coffee.

“Are you okay?” Kerfy sets another stack of books on the table, frown forming. “I know inventory sucks, but I’m giving you tomorrow off so smile a little, alright?”

Tyson shrugs. “I hooked up with him.”

“And that’s bad because?” Kerfy seems to, as usual, miss the point.

“ _Cursed_ ,” Tyson has to remind him, knowing it sounds ridiculous but also knowing all too well how this story ends time and time again.

“Stop overreacting,” Kerfy says, face softening. “Go home and get some sleep. You look like shit.”

Tyson knows Kerfy means well, even if he’s terrible at showing it. Still, there’s hours of work left ot do and little time left to finish it. He’s no quitter. “Nah, can’t sleep if I tried.”

“Look,” Kerfy abandons the books he’s sorting this time. “If he decides he doesn’t want you after all of that time he’s spent here, then he’s an idiot.”

“He likes the coffee or something,” Tyson shrugs.

“No,” Kerfy says. “He likes you. Don’t be dense.”

Tyson wants to believe that. He’s a dreamer at heart, full of hope and determination despite when it all goes wrong. He’s used to picking himself up, moving on and finding bigger and better— except for now. Tyson isn’t quite sure better exists. Not after he’s met JT.

“We’ll see.” Tyson decides he’d rather not talk about it— he’d rather count books for fuck's sake. Anything to keep his mind off of what’s likely to happen next time JT walks through those doors.

When they open, JT _doesn’t_ walk in. It’s typical, Tyson thinks.

At noon, Tyson retreats to one of the tables, lost between bookshelves, closes his eyes and finally gives in. JT’s voice comes through in his dreams, just as enthusiastic about his art than ever. It must be a world where Tyson isn’t cursed, because JT is smiling just for him.

“Tyson, come on,” JT says a little louder— a little too real.

When Tyson opens his eyes— blurry and a bit dazed, blinking to focus— he recognizes JT there, sketchbook in hand.

“Asleep on the job?” JT pulls out the chair, sitting across from him. “Cute.”

Tyson frowns, pinches himself and winces. He’s not asleep.

_He’s not asleep._

“You’re here?” Tyson has to rub his eyes to be sure.

“I told you I would be.” JT laughs. “Aren’t I always?”

“Wait.” Tyson reaches out and places his hand on top of JT’s sketchbook. If he’s cursed— _was_ cursed— and it’s entirely possible for curses to be broken— then maybe, possibly, JT’s the force strong enough to do so.

JT raises an eyebrow. “What am I waiting for?”

Tyson leans over the table, hesitant to test the waters. If JT rejects him, surely he’ll break. JT’s head tilts, ready to speak and it’s then that Tyson decides it’s now or never. He musters up every last bit of courage and kisses JT. When he kisses back, Tyson’s shoulders drop, feeling years upon years of weight sliding right off.

“Oh,” Tyson says when he pulls away, face slightly hot. “Let me make your macchiato.”

“Oh, God, no,” JT practically sputters and Tyson stops dead in his tracks.

Maybe he’s not quite in the clear like he’s thought. “What?”

“I really, really hate espresso. It’s like drinking rocket fuel.” JT winces, as if he’s waiting for the fallout.

Tyson laughs. Hard. “Then why did you let me make them for you for the past four months? Idiot.”

“You seemed so confident.” JT rubs the back of his neck, smile softer than usual. “And if I said it sucked, I wouldn’t have had an excuse to come back. Plus I didn’t want to offend you.”

“You’ve had plenty of excuses to come back,” Tyson says, eyeing his sketchbook. “Like your drawings. People love those.”

“And what, be that weird dude who everyone knows as the loitering illustrator?” JT pulls his sketchbook back, grinning.

“Boy do I have news for you,” Tyson says, snorting when he stands. “How about some regular coffee?”

JT mocks offense, following Tyson to his feet. “How about something a little sweeter to start.”

Tyson takes that as hint and kisses JT unashamedly this time, leaving all hesitation at the door. They don’t pull away until someone— Kerfy— yells.

“Either get a room or get back to work!”

JT clears his throat, face tinted a light pink. “Not that I didn’t like that, but I was referring to hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate,” Tyson repeats, laughing to himself. “I can work with that.”

..

**Two Months Later**

“Tyson, get up!”

If anyone’s voice is loud first thing in the morning, Tyson is pretty sure it’s Kerfy who makes the top of that list. He shifts, trying to ignore it, but he’s just so… _loud_.

It’s JT who groans, rolls over and pulls his pillow over his head before mumbling beneath it. “Tell him to go away.”

The thing is, Tyson’s content where he is, nestled against JT. Getting out of bed means putting on pants— it means listening to whatever it is Kerfy’s about to go on a tangent about this time— on Tyson’s day off.

“Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away.” Tyson yawns, eyes falling shut. It a welcoming silence that doesn’t last for long.

“Tyson!” This time, Kerfy pounds on his door. 

Tyson mumbles, throwing back the covers and reaches for his sweatpants, pulling them on. “If I kill him, you’d better have my back.”

“Mhm,” JT mumbles, already half out. “After I sleep.”

Tyson’s quiet when he steps into the hallway, glaring by the time he reaches Kerfy. “C’mon, you know JT spent the night.”

“What else is new,” Kerfy says, focused on his phone, typing and scrolling and ready to read him God knows what.

“Well?” Tyson puts his hands on his hip, not bothering to hide his irritation. 

Kerfy lowers his phone. “One of Colin’s weird art friends saw some of your boyfriend's stuff and damn near lost his mind.”

“And you woke me up for this?” Tyson rolls his eyes. “ I know JT’s good.”

“He’s a _publisher_ ,” Kerfy says with a smirk. “He wants to meet him. I thought you’d want to tell him yourself.”

“Yeah, wow, okay.” Tyson’s eyes widening, quickly understanding just what this could mean. It’s then he hears the creek of floorboards, glancing over his shoulder. JT. 

JT yawns, fixing the collar of his wrinkled t-shirt. “Tell me what?”

Kerfy gives Tyson’s arm a squeeze, excusing himself with an, “I’ll text you.” He disappears into his room as if on cue and Tyson makes a mental note to thank him (and Colin) for this later.

It’s weird and exciting and also a little scary— knowing what he knows— knowing _who_ Colin knows. Still, it’s JT’s dream and one Tyson wouldn’t dream of keeping from him. “You know how Colin is friends with like, all of these publishers and shit?”

“Yeah,” JT says, shrugging. “All they ever talk about is philosophy. Please tell me we’re not invited to another one of _those_ dinners. I can’t fake sick two weeks in a row.”

“No, well, yes, but this is different. This one is like, really into your work,” Tyson says, grinning wide. “You could be published.”

JT’s smile says it all, eyes lit up and brighter than ever. Tyson expects him to jump, maybe shout— he does neither. He, instead, cups Tyson’s face, kisses him— hard. Of all of the kisses they’ve shared to date, it’s probably Tyson’s favorite.

They both stay there, foreheads touching, long after the kiss has ended, silent until JT whispers, “All thanks to you.”

“But I didn’t do it,” Tyson says, soft.

“Maybe not,” JT says a little louder, reaching for Tyson’s hand. “But before I met you, no one took my work seriously. No one would even think about publishing me. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s like I was cursed or something. You have no idea.”

Tyson doesn’t laugh— at first. If he knows one thing, he knows curses. He also knows, now, that if you're lucky enough, it’s also possible for them to be broken.

It’s the first time in quite some time that Tyson feels truly happy.

And he’s most definitely _not_ cursed.

Not anymore, that is.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @ dantefabbs on tumblr / dejadejayou on twitter.
> 
> Title from Call it Dreaming by Iron & Wine.


End file.
